There comes a moment in every parent’s life when it become necessary to hide certain things from your child. That’s generally around the time when your son or daughter starts to understand what you’re saying.
I began spelling many, many things several months ago. Around the time when it became apparent that Peanut was a voracious eavesdropper; repeating everything when least appropriate (obviously). Of course, it didn’t take long before realizing that I don’t spell well – hard words, at least. So for now we’re sticking with simple words like “c.o.o.k.i.e” and “p.a.r.k.” and avoiding complicated ones such as “p.e.n.g.u.i.n.” and “v.a.c.u.u.m.”. (And yes, there are times when it’s appropriate to codify both of those.)
Still, it’s infiltrated every aspect of my being. Walking with a friend last week, I explained why I planned on hiring someone to cut my lawn. “I hate yard work,” I said. “And my lawn looks like s.h.i.t.” Our kids were running ahead – absolutely out of ear shot. But spelling it just felt…natural. Explain that. Motherhood’s certainly rotted my brain and destroyed every modicum of privacy I ever had showering or pooping. Now I can’t even swear effortlessly when my kid’s not around. What’s left?
As one friend pointed out at soccer this past Saturday morning, “we’re really screwed when our kids learn how to spell, aren’t we?”
Although she probably should have said “s.c.r.e.w.e.d.”